School Hard
by Revhead
Summary: Dean's instinct is to rip the lungs out of anyone who tries to hurt Sammy. But his actions have consequences, and Sam decides that he can't let this continue. Teen!Chester fic. (Title taken from an episode of Buffy, but the plot is unrelated)


**School Hard**

The last hour of school had never dragged this slowly before.

Sam was so focused on staring at the clock, willing time to move faster, that he didn't hear a word the teacher said and barely noticed the way his peers were warily keeping their distance from him. He was usually the most attentive and hard-working student in the class, but for once he could not care less about maths or grades or tomorrow's pop quiz. He needed to get out of here, and the wait was driving him insane.

He jiggled his leg, fiddled with his pencil case, flicked his pen back and forth across the desk, and even ran through all the lyrics of Dean's favourite Mellatica cassette in his head until _finally_ the bell rang.

Sam was out of there like a shot, books swiped off his desk and thrown haphazardly into his bag, a hasty "Good afternoon, Miss Wilkins" thrown over his shoulder. He rushed all the way to the school gates and then abruptly slowed, peering cautiously around the corner. But this afternoon, for the first time in weeks, there was no one there. He released the breath he hadn't realised he was holding, and then felt guilty for feeling so relieved.

A car horn sounded from across the street, catching Sam's attention. He recognised the truck and gave a slight wave to acknowledge it, waiting for a break in the traffic before running over. He popped open the passenger door and clambered into the seat.

"Hey, Uncle Bobby."

The man grunted. "Apparently I'm 'John Winchester' today. Where that man gets off giving my contact number to your school instead of his, I really don't know…"

Sam shrugged. "Dad is more than a day's drive away, hunting a Wendigo in West Virginia. I suppose he figured you were closer."

Bobby grumbled under his breath, something about 'irresponsible' and 'not a damn taxi service'.

"Thanks for picking me up, Uncle Bobby. I really appreciate it," Sam said, belatedly remembering his manners.

"Couldn't exactly leave you stranded on your own out here after what happened, could I?" Bobby muttered, starting the engine and pulling out onto the road. "Speaking of which, you okay, boy?"

"I'm fine."

Bobby looked over at him, eying him critically as though he needed more proof than Sam's word.

"Really, Uncle Bobby, they didn't do anything."

He raised an eyebrow. "That so? Not what I heard."

Sam shifted uncomfortably. "Well, I think they were going to, but…"

Bobby nodded grimly, turning his attention back to the road. The rest of the drive passed in silence.

They pulled into the salvage yard and the truck rumbled to a stop, but Sam didn't get out straight away. He was nervous. This was a conversation that was long overdue, though, and he couldn't avoid it anymore.

Sam spent a few minutes spent gathering his resolve and trying to think of the right words to say. Then, resigned to the fact that further delay was not going to make this any easier, he asked, "Where is he?"

Bobby jerked his thumb in the direction of the car lot.

Sam swallowed. "Thanks."

"Good luck."

He gave a weak smile, and reluctantly hopped out of the truck to venture out into the maze of run-down vehicles and car parts.

Sam found him lying on the hood of a 1955 Ford Fairlane that had clearly seen better days. He had an arm flung across his eyes to block out the sun, and didn't react to Sam's presence even though he undoubtedly heard his approach.

"Dean."

He made no move to respond, so Sam climbed up onto the hood with him and settled down at his brother's side to wait. As a general rule, Dean didn't like talking about anything important, emotional or serious, but Sam knew that if he was patient enough Dean would eventually give in.

It took until the sun was beginning to set for Dean to release a world-weary sigh and finally shift his arm so he could look over at Sam. "Still here, runt?"

"Yes," Sam answered simply. He wasn't going anywhere until he and Dean talked.

Evidently reading Sam's resolve in his expression, Dean groaned. "Do we really have to do this? Dad will be back in a week, and then we'll be outta here anyway. It's no big deal."

Sam didn't know how his brother could have such a cavalier attitude about his education. "It _is_ a big deal, Dean. This is the third school you've been expelled from."

"And the fifty-seventh I've been to."

Sam was surprised by the number; he didn't realise that Dean kept track.

"We never stick around," Dean continued, "so what does it matter how I leave?"

"It matters because there are three boys in the hospital right now."

Dean's eyes darkened with an echo of the dreadful rage that Sam had been witness to earlier that day, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "Better them than you."

"I would have been fine. They were harassing me for weeks and they never actually did anything. They were all talk."

"Calling you names and shooting spit-balls at you is one thing, Sam. Cornering you behind a school building, out of sight of any teachers, and shoving you against the wall, then _pinning you there_ by the _throat_ is a whole different ball game. They had every intention of beating the crap out of you."

"You don't know that for sure."

Dean sat up properly, turning to glare down at him. "I am a _hunter_, Sam. I know violent intent when I see it."

Sam thought Dean was probably right. The bullies had been trying to catch him alone ever since he started at the school, eager to let the new kid know just how far down the social ladder he was and then knock him down the rest of the way. Sam knew they had it out for him and had taken measures to avoid them; unfortunately they must have learned his patterns and worked out that he always took a short cut around the back of the school from his classroom to the library during breaks.

That lunch time, they had been lying in wait. Truth was, when they jumped him Sam had been scared out of his wits. The realisation that it was just some punk kids and not one of the creatures from Dad's journal should have been a relief, but being reasonably sure that they weren't going to kill him didn't make the impending beat down any less frightening. Sam was no stranger to pain, but in his case familiarity bred fear. Pinned against the wall, all he had been able to do was brace himself and wonder how much it was going to hurt.

But they never managed to land even the first blow. Dean made sure of that.

Dean had taken it too far, though. One 16-year-old against three 12-year-olds might have been fairly even odds if Dean was a normal teenager, but he wasn't. Dean was a hunter. He knew how to kill any number of evil things with his bare hands; three untrained humans never stood a chance.

"Those guys weren't supernatural monsters," Sam reminded Dean quietly. "They were just stupid kids."

"They were going to hurt you."

"That doesn't mean they deserved to be hospitalised, Dean. The worst I would have gotten was a black eye and a broken nose, maybe some bruised ribs. You broke Jake's arm."

"Well he won't be using it to punch anyone any time soon now, will he?"

"Lucas has to have his jaw wired shut until it heals."

"He shouldn't have been badmouthing you."

"Mark has a concussion."

"Maybe the blow will have knocked some sense into him."

Sam threw his arms into the air in frustration. "Dean, this is serious! You can't go around beating kids half to death for being mean to me."

"So what, I should've just sat back and let them kick the crap out of you? Is that what you're saying? Because you seemed pretty damn relieved when I came to your rescue."

"Maybe I was," Sam admitted. "But what you did to those guys was downright scary. And how do you think I felt when I watched the teachers drag you away, or when I heard you had been expelled on the spot? They were calling you wild and dangerous, Dean."

Dean smirked a little. "Yeah? I've always wanted to have a rep for being a badass."

Sometimes his brother really was incomprehensible. "Why?"

Dean's expression sobered. "Don't you get it, Sammy? When you go back to school tomorrow, no one is going to dare to give you so much as a funny look, let alone try to bully you. So what if I've been expelled? At least you're safe."

And this was what it always came back to. Dad had drilled it into Dean over and over again: protect Sammy, look after Sammy, keep Sammy safe. Dean took the responsibility seriously. In fact, sometimes Sam thought it was the only thing his brother cared about. Dean put Sam's health and welfare above everything else, including himself.

They would be moving to a new town soon. If bullies tried to target Sam again, which was more than likely, he had no doubt that Dean would respond to the threat in exactly the same way. This was his third expulsion for school yard violence because, even though he was not violent by nature, Dean would do anything to protect his little brother, consequences be damned.

But Sam couldn't let it keep happening.

"Dean… Thanks for stopping those guys." He meant it. Having his older brother always looking out for him made him feel safe and loved in a world that was dark and dangerous. "But you shouldn't have to keep saving me like that. So how about you teach me how to defend myself, so next time I can deal with it on my own. That way, any incidents get written off as school-yard bickering, no one ends up in hospital, and I get a reputation of my own to hold the bullies at bay."

"You want me to train you in self-defence?"

"Yeah. It's about time, isn't it?" As far as he had been able to work out, Dad had been training Dean in basic combat since he was five years old. Somewhere along the way, though, they had come to a mutual decision to keep Sam in the dark about the whole hunter business and let him grow up as normal as possible given the way they lived. They were both so determined to keep him out of harm's way that training him had not really occurred to them yet. But as much as they might want to, they couldn't always be there to protect him. "The best way for you to keep me safe is to teach me how to keep _myself_ safe, don't you think?"

Dean stared at him for a long moment. "When did you grow up, Sammy?"

_Right about the time I found out that monsters were real._ "It's Sam."

Normally, Dean would laugh and call him 'Sammy' again just to annoy him. But this time he nodded solemnly. "Okay, Sam. Let's get started, then."

He jumped off the hood of the car, beckoning for Sam to follow.

"Right now?" Sam asked.

"Why not?"

At that moment, a loud call came from the direction of the house. "Hey, boys! Dinner's on the table."

Dean's eyes lit up at the mention of food. "What is it?" he hollered back.

"Pie!"

Dean's face split into a grin, but then he glanced back at Sam and abruptly looked conflicted. "Ah, right, training…"

Sam laughed. "I think training can wait one more day. You made sure no one would be bothering me at this school again anyway. Let's go eat some pie."

"You sure?"

Instead of answering, Sam leapt off the car and took off running, throwing back over his shoulder, "First one there gets the biggest piece!"

From his front porch, Bobby Singer watched the two boys chase each other through the car lot, wondering how they could go from acting so mature beyond their years one minute to looking so happy and carefree the next. He marvelled at the relationship between two brothers who could fight, argue, have prank wars and drive each other crazy, but who ultimately stood by each other through thick and thin. Their bond was certainly something special.

ooOOoo

_The End_


End file.
